


This Terribly Tempered Soul

by Padraigen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Dark, Dark fic, Graphic Description, Hurt Steve, Hurt Tony, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Steve Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 10:36:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20864810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Padraigen/pseuds/Padraigen
Summary: He’d thought that once he’d sacrificed his life to save the team, to save his family, to save theuniverse, that would be the end of it. He hadn’t known he’d had anything left to sacrifice.





	This Terribly Tempered Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Tiếng Việt available: [This Terribly Tempered Soul | Linh hồn quá đỗi cứng cỏi này](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23438941) by [Stony1111](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stony1111/pseuds/Stony1111)

> This fic is a bit dark and has some mildly graphic descriptions. Please proceed with caution. Heed the ambiguous/open ending tag.
> 
> This work is unbeta'd. I apologize for any glaring mistakes.

Steve brushes his fingers over the knuckles of the gauntlet, still fastened on Tony’s immobile hand. He thinks that he’d thought he had known what despair felt like.

Now he knows he’d been wrong.

*

When he opens his eyes, the first thing he thinks is, _I went back in time._

It’s not quite accurate, though, because while his surroundings do resemble those of the planet Titan, it isn’t exactly how he remembers. He glances around, and it’s like he’s looking through a filter, a kaleidoscope of gold and red, purple, blue, and green and orange.

He’s a genius, and he doesn’t get what he’s seeing. He doesn’t know why he’s here.

He only knows that the right side of his face feels tight and uncomfortable, and that he’s wearing his armor. He can’t bend his neck to look down, so he doesn’t know _how_ he knows that. He just knows that he does.

*

They give the gauntlet to him. He wants to ask why, but the words won’t come.

*

He’s not on Titan anymore. Maybe he never was. He still doesn’t understand.

He’s in a cave. It’s finger-numbingly cold, and every time he takes a breath it feels like he’s just inhaled winter.

There’s a hole in his chest, one that is as familiar as it isn’t. In front of him, there’s a faceplate. Its eye-sockets are impossibly black and there’s a gaping hole where he thinks breathing holes should be.

A failed experiment.

*

Steve hurls the gauntlet at the wall, just to watch the plaster dent.

*

He’s jolted, agony shooting through his veins where his blood should be.

His dad’s never hit him before. _Never._

He’s cowed by the glare Howard’s shooting him, filled with a malice that makes his shoulders curl into himself. He feels small. Too small.

If he were bigger, he could carry that weight. If he were bigger, maybe his dad wouldn’t hate him so much.

*

Steve clutches the gauntlet to his chest, and he _sobs._

*

There’s a mountain of bodies and a river of red spilling down, puddling at his feet.

He collapses to his knees, blood splashing crimson on his skin, slicking his face and his hands. He tries desperately to grasp onto the broken shield lying in front of him, but his hands are too slippery.

Something whispers in his ears that if he can pick up the shield, then he can find Steve. His saving grace, and his deepest, darkest desire.

He doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t care.

*

Steve’s still clutching the gauntlet as he falls asleep. He dreams of Tony.

*

He lifts the shield, but it’s too late. It disappears, and he’s… in Clint’s farmhouse.

It’s the bedroom he shared with Steve, all those years ago when he’d fucked up so badly. The beginning of the end, maybe. Or maybe there was never a beginning. (Maybe there was only ever the end.)

“Tony.”

He whips around at the sound of his name, and he’s on a bed—how did he get on the bed?—and… Steve. Steve's really there.

_The whispers hadn’t been lying._

He feels the prickle of heat behind his eyes too late, and a teardrop trickles down his cheek before he can stop it.

Steve grabs him, pulls him close, and _holds _him. He says, “I’ve got you, Tony. You don’t have to be afraid.” And he kisses him.

*

Steve wakes up.

*

What was a dream turns into a nightmare, and he should’ve _known_. He’s beginning to understand.

This isn’t a kiss. This is how the universe screws with him. This is death dancing with his tongue, a stench of rot filling his nostrils. The ice-cold lips of a man who never loved him are lifeless against his own.

He jerks back, crying out at the sight before him. Steve’s skin is ghastly pale and decaying. Blood stains the corners of his mouth, and he’s staring up at him, though he’s clearly not seeing him. His eyes are bloodshot, but the irises are still impossibly blue. Like a part of him is _still alive._

The thought churns his stomach, and he _screams._

*

Steve agrees to return the stones. Anything to see Tony again.

*

He huddles in on himself and squeezes his eyes shut. He won’t do this anymore. He _won’t._

He’d thought that once he’d sacrificed his life to save the team, to save his family, to save the _universe, _that would be the end of it. He hadn’t known he’d had anything left to sacrifice.

There are more whispers in his ear—and he’s clearly lost his mind because maybe they do sound a little bit like Natasha—and they’re telling him to _rest._

_He is coming._

*

Steve drops to his knees in front of Tony, calling out his name over and over like it’s the only word he’s ever learned.

*

He hunches in even further on himself, and his jaw aches from the way he’s been clenching it. There is a voice shouting in his ear that is painfully familiar and so obviously a trick. The sound of his name coming from those lips, in that voice, is enough to make him tremble. He knows what torture feels like.

This is worse.

*

Steve’s cheeks are damp with tears, his voice unbearably hoarse. Yet still he begs.

“Please, Tony! Please!”

*

_Please!_

And Tony opens his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, and have a moment, I would really appreciate knowing your thoughts in the comments! Thank you very much :)
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](https://padraigendragon.tumblr.com/)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Splintered](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22698928) by [jellybeanforest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest)


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